


A Jedi's Life

by ausmac



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2016-08-24
Packaged: 2018-08-10 18:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7856173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a young trainee Jedi called Obi-Wan's future Master is killed, he decides to start his own search for a Master to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jedi's Life

**Author's Note:**

> This was my take on how these two wonderful character might have met.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was faced with the most terrible disaster of his young life, when his Master died.

The choice and selection of the two parts of a Master and Padawan pairing was not left to chance. From the time when they were brought into the Jedi crèche they were assessed and judged, observed and recorded to find their most suitable match during their formative years. Teachers were assigned to them along the way and the final choice of a Master to take over their training as Padawan Learner at fourteen was made between the ages of eight and ten years old - with various averages done for the different species.

A female human Knight had been selected for Obi-Wan after exhaustive research and the pairing was confirmed. Obi-Wan's future within the Order seemed assured.

Then - the worst possible thing - his future Master was killed in a transport accident. At ten years of age, Obi-Wan lost his Master and his future was threatened.  
  
The Crèche Master took Obi-Wan aside to give him the terrible news.

Shocked and frightened, the young boy looked up at the tall woman and struggled to hold back tears.

"But…Master Coalien, what will happen to me?" 

"We will search for another Master for you, Obi-Wan. Do not fear, you will be a Jedi Padawan. I believe the Force will not let you fail in this."

With that, Obi-Wan had to be content. He continued his education and training, his body growing fit and strong as he approached the step up from child to young man. At eleven years his friends held a party for him and his best friend, Kiyun, hugged him in consolation.

"Don't worry, Obi. They won't let you go, you're top of the year!"

He was, indeed, a fine student, but as the days and weeks passed into months and then years, still he was without a Master. If none was found for him by his fourteenth year, he would be returned to his homeworld and family and would never be the Jedi he had worked to be since he was five years old.  

The Crèche Master kept him informed and he could see, when he was twelve years old, that she was becoming concerned. "The problem, Obi-Wan, is one of availability. Not every Jedi is suited to teach a Padawan, and those that are, are assigned to their initiate when the initiate is young, as you were. We are constantly checking and rechecking the records, but I must tell you that I am becoming concerned."

Finally, Obi-Wan knew that if something didn't happen soon, he would be sent home, all his dreams lost.

So, he thought finally, if they cannot find me a Master, then I must find one for myself. And so began his search.

****

The Jedi stood motionless in the midst of a desolation of shattered building and the grass beneath his boots was hot and black, burned to smoldering ashes. The sky around him was smoky and torn by the flash of fire and the streak of tracer. His bright green lightsaber blade's hum was hidden by the sound of war as he stood, poised, watching the men who surrounded him beyond the tip of his blade.  
  
One of them stepped forward. He was huge, taller even than the Jedi and twice as bulky, armoured and armed and visored so that he seemed more droid than man. He raised one arm and gestured and his voice was amplified through the battle sounds.  
   
"Surrender now, Jedi, and live. You can't beat us all."  
  
The blade didn't shift and the Jedi's body held still, his blue eyed gaze unwavering. "Perhaps not," he said quietly, "but which of you will die proving that?" He looked at the small group of armed men and shook his head. "My honest advice is to walk away. You have no chance. I am a Jedi Master, I do not lie."  
  
The waiting mercenaries shuffled a little and muttered among themselves and the leader snapped at them. "Hold place, fools, he's just bluffing."  
  
"But Zeer," one of them said, waving a blaster nervously, "he's a Jedi Master. You know, one of them with the Force thing. I seen one once. . ."

Zeer shouted a guttural curse and swung about, raising his blaster and when he fired it the white beam flew back and spun him around and he was down before the echo of the blast had faded.

The rest of them fought, since that was their nature, but their target moved with unnatural speed and skill and those that survived stumbled or crawled away wounded, leaving a slightly breathless Jedi standing alone in the rubble on the burnt grass.

Qui-Gon Jinn looked down at the half dozen bodies and flipped his lightsaber off with a disgusted snort. He wondered, sometimes, at the point of it all, the fighting and the killing and the talking.

I do it, he thought wearily, as he picked his way through the rubble, because it is all I know and because I am good at it. As he walked through the wreckage of war and the howling sound of it that blotted out everything, he thought irrelevantly how good it would be to hear laughter.

****

Obi-Wan had always been an excellent student, obedient and good-natured, a joy to teach. As he began to carry out his search he also began to broaden his studies, researching areas and skills beyond his normal curriculum.

One such area was computer science and technology. The twelve-year-old threw himself into the study of computers with the same energy he devoted to learning a new training move and within weeks he was able to use any system in the Temple.

The next step, however, took some consideration. To find what he needed he would have to break into the personal records carrying the details of the Jedi Masters he needed to research.   
  
The young boy didn't ask for permission, because he knew he would be refused, and refusal would be a barrier beyond which he couldn't go. So he didn't ask - he simply went ahead. He tracked down the information he needed, using his ears and his eyes and his quick wit - and under the pretext of extra study he tapped into the main personnel files.

Seated at terminal in the far corner of the big research library, Obi-Wan worked alone into the night. Droids would occasionally wander by and ask if they could assist, but he shooed them away and spent as much of the night as he could reading.

The crèche supervisor hadn't been wrong, that much he could tell on the first run through. Every potential Master registered for a trainee was taken. Those that weren't showed drastic incompatibility and he was intelligent enough to know that one couldn't force rapport no matter how much one of the parties might wish it.

It seemed hopeless. Obi-Wan sat back in the chair and fisted his tired eyes. All these Masters and no-one for him. 

He paused, and looked back at the statistical readout. So many Masters. . .and so many not registered for padawans. What about those, the one who hadn't put their names down?  

It seemed a silly idea - if they didn't want to take on a trainee, then that was worse than incompatibility. And yet. . .what if there was someone out there who could do it, could train him, could match him - and who just didn't know?  

He broadened his criteria, refining the list down with his own choices - human, respectably aged (which meant, for a twelve-year-old, someone over thirty), experienced, with high ratings in all the physical attributes and Force skills - and began his search.

****

Qui-Gon arrived back on Coruscant carrying his lightsaber and with the clothes he wore and nothing else. Even the clothing was stained and burned and his body stank of unwashed sweat. It had been a close call - not every negotiation worked, not every argument was listened to and intelligence didn't always overcome stupidity. There'd been no time to do anything but call in for help from the Republican forces for the sector and head back on his fast transport to the Temple to report.

The Missions Duty Master was in a meeting in the lower meeting hall and the message from the young aide at Reception was that Master Jinn was to wait in the outer hall, that Master Tyad would join him shortly. It didn't seem to matter that Master Jinn was a mess, that those Jedi who passed him in the halls seemed to be looking at him as if he were something the y'kana dragged in. - or that he was so tired he could barely stand. Master Tyad said wait, so he did, resting his back against the wall, tucking his hands into his tattered sleeves, and trying not to look as tired as he felt.

He didn't notice the two young initiates entering the corridor, nor that one of them was watching him with particular interest. . .

****

Kiyun had tempted Obi-Wan out of his studies with the offer of a swim in the lower pools and the boy had given into the temptation. He loved swimming and the trainee pools were always a fun place to be, where you could yell and laugh and be yourself, away from the serious eyes of seniors. They had taken a shortcut through the administration area and were walking past the meeting rooms when Kiyun chuckled.

"He looks like he's been through the troubles. What a mess!"

Obi-Wan turned his head and saw the tall Jedi slumped against the wall. In the midst of all the pristine neatness of the Temple he stood out in powerful contrast, with his stained and torn robes and tunics and his scuffed boots.

"Yes, he certainly is. Do you know who he is?"

Kiyun shrugged. "Nope. A senior Knight or a Master. Gertz, Obi, I don't know EVERY Jedi, you know! Come on, we'll be late for that plate of toola cream!"

Obi-Wan turned for a final look, curious, and as he turned his head the man looked up and their eyes connected. It was only a moment; the Knight looked down again, projecting weariness and Obi-Wan turned away. As he walked off with Kiyun he thought, I'll remember that face, I'll find out who it is when I'm in the Lists next time.

And when he was, he did remember, and he found himself studying the incredible career record of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

It was later that night, when the Temple library was dark except for the little pool of light in the corner where Obi-Wan was working. He was sitting in a chair that was too large for his slight frame, with his legs curled beneath him as he worked his way through the recordings. It was a lifetale worthy of a bard, the story of this lone Jedi Master. He had been to so many worlds, done so many things, brought peace, stopped wars, saved lives, ended many more and lived through such dangers that it was a wonder he hadn't died many times. The images of him through the years showed a tall, slender man, a bit solemn, dignified, and very, very strong.

Obi-Wan watched a recording of Master Jinn in practice during some training tutorial, the precise way he danced through the katas and how each movement was exactly as it should be.  

As if had designed those movements, and knew them in his heart. Obi-Wan touched the screen image with his finger.

"Why don't you have a Padawan, Master Jinn? When you are so good, why don't you teach?"

Something unknown moved in Obi-Wan's middle like a trapped bird, a tiny, ridiculous flutter of hope.  

This one, he thought, against all logic and reason and reality. This one.

****

Qui-Gon Jinn read the duty roster for the second time, as if the words on the screen might suddenly reform to a more logical pattern. No, they were still the same. For the third week he was rostered to Temple duties.

Temple duties. Qui-Gon snorted in annoyance and shut the screen down with a wave of his hand. See, Master Windu, the Force has not deserted me, he thought with mild petulance. I am still capable. I am not useless. I can still do things!

He stood and went over to the window of his room, for once finding no solace in the view. These particular rooms had been his for a full ten cycles since he had made a determined effort to keep them. The Jedi who were based on Coruscant were not supposed to become attached to any one set of accommodation but the Jedi Master had requested the same lodgings whenever the assignments had come up each year and, unexpectedly, had received them. They faced inwards instead of outwards, were one of a series of rooms on the three inner towers that gave a perfect view of the Mediation Gardens and water fountains of the central core. He felt, sometimes, like a cave dweller of old, or perhaps the resident of some particularly attractive hive.

But that day the view gave him little peace. The first week of home assignment had been expected; his last mission had been exhausting and spectacularly unsuccessful. Even the second week had been acceptable - but three weeks – well, three weeks was either a punishment or an oversight. If the former then he wanted to speak to someone about it. If the latter, then that was simply insulting.

Qui-Gon sat down again to review the roster. As was common for senior Jedi on Temple duties, he’d been assigned to teaching. He was scheduled that very day to take on a class of senior initiates for a lesson in advanced Lightsaber. There was a class listing with a short series of notes on each student, training room location, time and length of class.

He stared out the windows again, brows furrowed in thought. How long had it been since he’d taught a class? A year? No, more like five years. He wasn’t very good at it, for reasons he’d never considered. Lack of practice, perhaps, or the discomfort of dealing with a large number of young people all looking to him for something. He knew how to do things, a great many things that were required of a Jedi. He just wasn’t all that good at imparting them in a class setting.  

He sighed again and stood, stretching his arms up and twisting to unkink his back and shoulder muscles. Six in the class, that shouldn’t be too much to handle.  And when it was done he would be talking to someone about getting back on the active roster. 

****

Obi-Wan had arrived early at the training rooms that day and spent extra time warming up alone. The full impact of what he had done was starting to sink in and his stomach was a tight ball of nerves. Not only had he tapped into the central data units and bypassed security, but also he had tampered with the rostering of a senior Jedi.  

“I am in deep dada…” _If they catch me. . ._  
  
It wasn’t as if he’d caused any harm. He’d simply slid Master Jinn’s rerostering to active duty back a week. Even if anyone noticed, it would be put down to a data input error. Right?

He twisted and spun around, launching himself into a series of acrobatic leaps and tumbles. Wrong. Some Jedi with a really strong sense of the flow of the Force would probably read the wrongness and track it back to him and he’d be kicked out and sent home in disgrace. Obi-Wan groaned and pin wheeled around, pushing himself into tighter and tighter loops, as if he could leap away from the inevitable.

Just when it seemed he would loose control and careen into a wall, he felt himself gathered by a supporting wave of energy. He hung onto it, flipped himself around it like a planet around a sun and landed on his feet, breathless and flushed, in front of Qui-Gon Jinn.

“You’re not an avian, young man,” said the tall man in a deep, amused voice. “ So perhaps you shouldn’t try to fly.”

He looked up into those blue eyes and there it was again, that sense of familiarity, of rightness. “Yes sir, sorry.”  
  
“No problem, enthusiasm is better than the lack of it.”  
  
The doors opened at that moment and three more trainees entered, and Master Jinn turned away. Obi-Wan blended into the group as two more entered, making up the class of six. It was a normal training group that the senior Jedi had been assigned to as soon as he showed up on the training roster. Obi-Wan’s only input had been to have himself slotted into the group.

As soon as the other trainees had placed their gear in the storage units and put on their training shoes, Master Jinn told them to sit on the floor as he pulled a bench forward to sit on. He looked down at the waiting group of trainees and smiled mildly.

“I’ve been rostered to run you through a class of advanced initiate-level lightsaber, but I’m a little rusty in the teaching department. I am not generally assigned to this sort of thing, so if there is anything in particular you want to know, or some area you need help on, ask me.”  
  
They all squirmed in place, unsettled by the notion of actually telling a teacher how to teach, and Master Jinn’s smiled widened. “Come now, you must have some things you want to try.”

“Practising with a real lightsaber?” one girl said brightly, and the others laughed.

Master Jinn unclipped the black and silver lightsaber from his belt, angled it upwards, and ignited it. The pale green blade leapt out, humming and hissing, and each of them felt its powerful buzz vibrate through their bones. They had all seen full power lightsabers, but never so close, and they watched it wide-eyed and fascinated.

“This,” Master Jinn said softly, “is a lightsaber. It is capable of cutting through any known substance, except another lightsaber. Can anyone tell me the strangest thing about that fact?”

They thought about, and Obi-Wan raised his hand. Master Jinn turned to him. “You are?”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, sir. I think – I think the strange thing is that it doesn’t cut through the lightsaber cylinder and your hand while you hold it.”

The master nodded, slowly. “Exactly correct, Obi-Wan. Logically, it should. Why doesn’t it?”

It was a question directed at the class, but Obi-Wan took it as being to him. “Because a Jedi makes it.”

“Yes, because a Jedi makes it. In here is the lightsaber’s heart,” the master said, tapping the side of the cylinder near the access panel, “the crystal – in my ‘sabre’s case a green Icerean – that focuses and controls the energy, converting it to a concentrated and finite length beam of energy. Anyone can make a lightsaber, anyone can buy the pieces and put them together – but only a Force-sensitive trained in the ways of the Force can balance the crystal within the Force to harness the power. This,” he said, his voice more relaxed, “is the truest weapon of a Jedi. A weapon of defense, a tool of power, a symbol of what we are.”  

He swirled it around gently and the lightsaber hummed, cutting through the air, singing its throaty song. He flicked the control and the blade vanished. “When you are a padawan, your master will help you build your own full power lightsaber and then you will understand.”

They all sat in silence for a few moments, contemplating that day, before the master stood and clipped the lightsaber back onto his belt. “In the meantime, we will work with the practice ‘sabres. Go and collect one and I will see how much you have learned.”

The morning lesson passed too quickly. For all that he said he wasn’t good at it, Obi-Wan thought that Master Jinn did very well. He watched each of them run through the basic movements and then set about correcting flaws. One of the first things they learned was the need for co-ordination – you made a mistake with a real lightsaber, you lost a limb, or your life. So you needed to train and train until you and the weapon were in perfect synch. He made them go through the movements over and over, showing them how it should be, helping them to understand the way the mind and body worked within the Force, so that it became impossible to do harm to yourself with the weapon.

And he finished the lesson with a display of how their training would ultimately enable them to fight. He activated three of the remotes, dialed them up to full speed and let them loose, then activated his lightsaber again.  

The three remotes zoomed around the room, firing off low power blasts that he intercepted, dodging and leaping as he did.  

For five amazing minutes he did what he had told Obi-Wan only an avian could do – he flew.

Obi-Wan sensed his joy in the moment, his intense anchoring concentration. The Master was focusing just enough ahead to intercept the remotes, and Obi-Wan wondered if the senior Jedi ever found himself lost in the flow of the Force the way Obi-Wan occasionally did. He would like to ask, he had so many questions. And so little time.

****

The boy stood unsteadily on the beam, his arms spread wide for balance, a simple black blindfold wrapped around his eyes. He took a hesitant step, wavered, and took another, and the beam began to quiver beneath him.

“Steady, young man, seek your balance, relax. ..”  
  
Qui-Gon watched as the boy paused then began again.  Just as he seemed to have found some control the beam began to rock again. Arms waving, the young man spun around and toppled from the beam. The line attached to a band around his middle stopped his fall and his feet touched the floor with a soft plop.

The Jedi Master went to assist the boy, stripping away the blindfold and undoing the safety line. “Good try, Garvin, but you let yourself be distracted. And what else?”  
  
Blue eyes looked up at him from a cheerfully freckled face. “I got scared, sir.”

“Yes, you were afraid to fall. Fear clouds our contact with the Force. Only when we are centered, at peace, can we maintain that perfect contact.”  

 The Jedi turned to the waiting group as he undid the final safety harness clips. “Who will try next?”

Various appendages raised and waved in the air but his attention was drawn to one human male standing at the side of the group. For some reason this particular student seemed to stand out from the rest of the class whenever he was present. He was bright and quick and excellent Jedi padawan material, but it was more than that. There was something special about him . . .

“Obi-Wan, isn’t it? Very well, let me see what you have learned.”

Obi-Wan stepped forward, removing his outer tunic and rolling up his sleeves. He raised his arms to allow the Master to strap the belt around his waist, and waited, patient and quiet, as the adjustable cable was clipped onto the back and the black cloth was wrapped over his eyes. 

Then he moved to the end of the multi-level bar and leapt up unerringly, landing with the sort of sure-footedness that Qui-Gon envied. Ah, to be so young, and so certain.  
   
The training bars filled the exercise room like a giant child’s toy, criss-crossing and intersecting on various levels and at all sorts of maze-like angles. Ropes and rings hung at different heights and there were pathways, obstacles and tubes linking various sections from floor to high ceiling.

Qui-Gon watched as obi-Wan steadied himself and turned on the bar towards the centre of the room. He had chosen the more difficult path; he could have simply cross the beam he was on, jumped onto a flat-topped block and then slid down a slide that would take him back to the floor. Instead he had turned towards the inner maze, a challenging path for the sighted and extremely difficult for those relying only on the Force to guide them.

The rest of the class watched in silence as Obi-Wan made his sure-footed way over the beam. He paused at the end; there were three ways to go at that point. He could leap for the rope suspended some two metres away, jump to another slightly narrower beam that ran parallel and a metre away or go for the block set at three metres and on the other side of the parallel beam.  

Obi-Wan swiveled on the balls of his feet, arms out and then he leapt – over the beam onto the block.  

He almost missed it, had to back pedal to stop himself from sliding off and he wavered back and forth as his focus diminished.

Qui-Gon could practically sense Obi-Wan’s intense concentration. He’d rarely seen such self-possession in so young a person and it fascinated him in spite of himself. The boy was so determined, so perfectly in tune. The Force sang through him, radiant and fearless. He crossed through the maze, pausing now and then to orient himself, head up, seeking the way with gentle Force manipulations. When he reached the other side he leapt off to the floor, twisting around the safety harness in a little showy acrobatic flip. The rest of the class applauded politely and Qui-Gon could sense his delighted satisfaction.

I should chide him for pride, he though, as the boy took off the blindfold and harness and rejoined the group. Pride was right up there with lust as one of the more dangerous emotions. He couldn’t find it in his heart to spoil the moment, or to be the cause of dimming the glow in the young man’s flushed face.

At the end of the session Qui-Gon joined the group for lunch in the big eatery on the training level. Anyone using the classrooms during the day would generally eat there – the food was healthy and tasty and there was always someone you knew present to eat with. Qui-Gon would normally have gone to eat with his fellow senior Jedi, but he chose to sit with his students instead, and share their energetic presence.

Obi-Wan was seated across the table from him, and they naturally fell into conversation over their bowls of nutcrackle salad.

“Have you walked the Maze blindfolded before?” Qui-Gon asked as he poured sweet dressing onto his salad.

“Once, about a month ago.” The young man grinned and sipped his juice. “I got about half way before I lost my place. It isn’t easy, concentrating so hard.”  
  
“Hmm.” Qui-Gon chewed his food thoughtfully. “You can try too hard, you know, young man. Sometimes the best way is to relax, to let the Force show you the way.”  
  
“Sort of like going on your instincts?” asked the young woman next to him, and he nodded.

“Yes, in a way, though a Jedi’s instincts run beyond the more primitive instinctive level feelings of normal folk. Our instincts are tied to the Force, but we must still learn to judge when it is the Force speaking to us, or when it is our own desires that we hear.  If we do the wrong thing for what we believe the Force is telling us is the right reasons, well, that way leads to darkness.”

As he turned back, he thought he saw Obi-Wan pale, and sensed a sudden shiver in the Force. Then it was gone and the boy was smiling and talking to his neighbour and Qui-Gon put it down to weariness. He had not thought he would enjoy teaching children, he had almost forgotten where his real duties lay. It was time to get back to work.

After the day’s classes were over, Qui-Gon put in a call to the roster, requesting an update on his status.  Nothing had changed, and he immediately put through a call to Master Windu.

The head of the Council would not normally have been involved with the rostering problems of a single Master, no matter how senior, but the message from Qui-Gon Jinn had obviously intrigued him, and Qui-Gon was admitted to his quarters a short time after the call. The Council leader showed Qui-Gon to a seat in his comfortable rooms and poured him a glass of wine.

“Well, Qui-Gon, how are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, Mace. It’s been quite a while since we spoke.”

“Yes, months. I am sorry about your last mission, it did not go well for you.”  

Qui-Gon’s lips quirked upwards – Mace Windu was a master of understatement. “It was a disaster, as you well know. I thought perhaps that since that had been the case, the Council might be considering me for early retirement.”

One black eyebrow raised. “Indeed not. You are nowhere near planetary duties, as you well know. However, the matter of your unnaturally long Temple duty roster is unusual. Not because we ordered it – rather because we did not.”  
  
Qui-Gon straightened, surprised. “What?”

“Yes. It appears, on the first run-through of the roster records, that someone has tampered with your roster.  You have been kept here, not because it was intended, but because someone other than those responsible wished you to be kept here. And, apparently, allocated your time to teaching duties.”   
  
“I could perhaps understand a mistake,” Qui-Gon said absently, as he considered the facts, “and even sabotage, for a Jedi rarely goes through life without making enemies. But teaching duties? What in the Force’ name is going on?”

“That is what we are endeavoring to find out. Whoever did this has covered their tracks very well, but we have some top class technicians from Miricorps working on it. I believe we will locate the source of this peculiar interference very soon.”

****

Obi-Wan was reading a text on advanced computer diagnostics when a message appeared on his computer terminal. The older initiates were given shared rooms outside the crèche; Obi-Wan’s three other room mates were off at a night class in stellar navigation and he had used the quiet time to catch up on some reading. So the call from one of his teachers to come to the common room, while unusual, wasn’t alarming.

The common room was a large airy room on the outer edge of one of the towers, with an unbroken view through large windows of the Coruscant skyline. Dozens of comfortable lounging chairs were grouped around the room, and Jedi of all levels could go there to read and talk, to meet friends or to receive messages from the communal intercomp units. The big room was almost empty, which was unusual for that time of night, but the reason for it caused Obi-Wan to stop just inside the door.

Seated in a group around a table at one side of the room were four senior Jedi Masters, including Mace Windu and Qui-Gon. 

They turned towards him as he entered and he knew, with his powerful sense of foretelling, that the moment had arrived.  It was a relief, somehow, yet he didn’t feel afraid. One way or another, it was his time. For good or ill, his future would be decided here.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan continued, dipping his head in a courteous salute to the senior members of his Order. One of them he knew well, an older Boracian woman who had been his senior Force-studies lecturer for two years. “Good evening Master Kelvar.”  
  
“Obi-Wan.” The small woman shook her head and looked at him with sadness in her large silver eyes. “Take a seat. Master Windu has something to ask you.”

Straightening his back, Obi-Wan turned to the senior Master. “I’d rather stand, if it please you.” He felt oddly hollow, and strangely satisfied at the same time. He had tried and he had failed, but at least he had tried.

Master Windu studied him for a few moments, stripping away some of his composure. “I’ve no desire to get a crick in my neck, young man. Sit down and relax, no-one is going to eat you. Chew you over a bit, perhaps, but I think you rather expect that.”  
  
Obi-Wan took a slow breath in, let it out along with the tension that had been building in his chest, and sank into an empty chair next to Qui-Gon.  
  
“I have called you here to answer questions about what appears to be a very serious situation. Perhaps,” the senior Jedi continued quietly, “you can firstly confirm what our investigations have indicated. You have been tampering with the Temple computer systems, have you not?”  
  
It was pointless to lie, and his honour forbade it. “Yes, Master Windu.”

“How old are you?”

Obi-Wan turned to Qui-Gon as the Master spoke. “I am almost thirteen, sir.”

“Thirteen.” Qui-Gon shook his head, and in spite of his growing sense of numb sadness, Obi-Wan thought he saw the older man smile.

“That’s quite remarkable. A thirteen-year-old tampering with the Jedi’s own computer systems.” Qui-Gon’s voice had an odd quality to it, not angry, which Obi-Wan knew he had the right to be. Almost admiring…  
  
“I don’t question his ability,” Master Windu said, “I do question his reasons. What were they, Obi-Wan?”

This was the hard part. It would have been easier if Master Jinn had not been present, but Obi-Wan was fast coming to the conclusion that life and Fate were rarely kind. “Master Windu, I was searching. My assigned Master was killed some years ago and no replacement has been found. I was looking for someone. To be my Master.” He avoided Qui-Gon’s eyes, concentrated on Master Windu. “Sir, if I don’t find a Master soon, I will be released, and sent home. I want to be a Jedi, sir. It’s the only thing I have ever wanted to be.”  
  
The final member of the group, who had not spoken till then, cleared his throat, and Obi-Wan turned to look down at the Jedi’s oldest member.

“Bright the boy is,” Yoda said, stirring circles in the carpeting with his gimmer stick. “No darkness do I sense in him. Seeks what any Jedi does, to learn, to become one with the Force.” Wise old eyes looked up and Yoda studied Obi-Wan’s face for a few moments, then turned to Qui-Gon. “Reminds me of someone he does.”

Qui-Gon straightened. “I don’t recall ever breaking into the computer systems, my Master! I was a model initiate!”

“Psht!” The small Master choked on a laugh. “Model, were you? Disrespectful you were, pushed the boundaries you did.”

“But,” Master Windu said coolly, interrupting the flow of reminiscence, “that does alter what has happened here.  An initiate has not only circumvented system security; he has tampered with the roster of a senior Jedi. This is active disobedience on a grand scale.”

The four senior Jedi considered this undeniable fact for a time while Obi-Wan shifted in his seat. Finally, he decided that since he was doomed anyhow, he might as well let everything out. He turned to Qui-Gon, and bowed his head.

“I am sorry, sir, forgive my behaviour.   I did it for a good reason though. You remember you talked about doing wrong things for the right reason? I think this was doing right things, but doing them the wrong way. The right way wasn’t working. I needed to push things along a bit.”

Qui-Gon nodded, thoughtful. “Because you thought I would be a good Master for you?”

“Well, yes sir, but not just that. Because I thought you needed me. You needed me as your Padawan.”

That caused the other three Masters to sit up, and Obi-Wan caught sight of their various expressions; surprised confusion on Master Windu’s face, disbelieve from Master Kelvar – and bright amusement on Yoda’s face.

And Qui-Gon – Qui-Gon frowned, and stroked his chin with one finger as he looked into Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Impertinence?”

“No sir.” Obi-Wan shook his head. “I read all about you, about your missions, your adventures, all the places you’ve been. You’ve done some amazing things, but sometimes you’ve failed. Sometimes you needed backup, a partner, someone to do things for you that you can’t do alone. You need someone who can read the flow of the binding Force the way I can, someone as good with the binding as you are with the living. I guess,” he finished with a rush, “you just didn’t know it.”

Qui-Gon leant forward across the arm of the chair, bringing his face closer to Obi-Wan. The young Jedi held still, aware of that intense blue gaze. “If you read my history as you said, young Jedi, then you will well know that I have never had any interest in taking on a padawan. I am a field operative, not a teacher.”  
  
“Yes sir, you’re a very good operative, but you are also a very good teacher. Just like I am a very good student.” Obi-Wan locked gazes with Qui-Gon, letting the sense of rightness grow in his mind as it flowered in his heart. “I suppose I will be released and sent home, but I had to try, sir, and I’m glad I did. I got to meet you, and study with you. When you know something is right, when you can feel it in the pattern of things, you have to try and make it work.”  
  
The smile was back, lifting the end of the Master’s lips beneath the fringe of beard. “Yes you do. I wonder if I ever had your absolute certainty in anything.”

There was a sense of communion, an odd sort of reaching out that Obi-Wan didn’t understand, and he was about to think about it when something hard nudged at his leg. A moment later Qui-Gon jumped, his concentration broken.

“Met your match  you have, I think, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon straightened, pulling back. “No. Impossible.” He looked down at Yoda who had slid from his seat and was standing between them. “I have other priorities.”

“Correct Obi-Wan is – you need him. Too long have you walked alone.”  
  
Master Windu waved one hand abruptly. “This is all very interesting, but it does not alter the fact that this young man broke some serious rules. Are we to ignore that because it was done in a good cause? You will note, Master Yoda,” Windu finished with a small smile, “I consider seeing Qui-Gon with a Padawan to be a good cause.”  
  
Qui-Gon stood abruptly, almost backing away from the seated group, from Obi-Wan. “I don’t wish to see him punished, I can understand that sort of desperation.” He looked down at Obi-Wan, expression closed. “I am sorry. I cannot –“ He stopped, went to speak further, and shook his head, before turning to walk away.

Obi-Wan watched his Master – for that was what Qui-Gon Jinn was meant to be – stride from the room.  

The door closed, and it seemed that something nearly perfect was stillborn.

****

 

There were plenty of places to go in the Temple if you didn't wish to be found.  It was a vast catacomb of a place of multiple towers, hundreds of levels, thousands of rooms.  Even though it was always busy and always populated, still there were places where you could be alone, to think.  And supposedly remain unfound. 

Unless a particularly persistent Jedi Master was looking for you.  He was small and not too rapid on his feet, but Yoda had a way of getting places faster than seemed possible considering his physical limitations.   

"Hide from this you cannot." 

Qui-Gon had found a quiet corner in an empty study room and was sitting on the broad windowsill, his back to the wall,  his legs stretched out along the sill.  He sighed and turned, pushed himself back against the wall of the tall window and pulled up his knees.  The place he'd found to sit and think in peace was at the end of one of the teaching sectors and typically quiet and dark at that time of the morning.  He looked down at Yoda, feeling an odd mix of frustration and affection.

"I cannot hide from you, it seems." 

"Nor from your destiny," Yoda said, climbing clumsily up into a chair too high for him. "No, scoff at me you should not. A much-maligned word, destiny, but sometimes apt." 

Qui-Gon turned to look out through the thick glass at the swirling mass of lights of the Coruscant skyline.  "Not for me.  I do not believe in luck - good or bad – or destiny, or fate.  Coincidence I can admit to, but only because some odds are bound to drop eventually.  This has nothing to do with destiny, just the creatively willful acts of a child."

"Like him, I think you do."  Yoda's tone was unusually warm. 

"Yes.  He's likeable.  Intelligent, quick-witted.  Certainly bold.  He will make someone an excellent padawan." 

"No.  Right he was in this, you were his last hope.  Released he will be to his family, and never a Jedi." 

Qui-Gon frowned.  “Surely someone can be found!  The Jedi Order is enormous, there are thousands of senior Jedi..." 

"All have been tested who are available and willing," Yoda said, his large eyes intent.  "None were suitable." 

It wasn't fair.  "This isn't right.  I should not be made to feel guilty for refusing the boy.  I have chosen not to train a padawan.  That is my right." 

“Your right it is, a rule of the Order and a wise one.  Leave the judging of fitness for teaching do we to each Knight. 

A calling it is, just as for a Healer.  Yes mistakes are made, through stubbornness of blindness.  Such is this, I believe.  Watched you, I have, with the young ones this past week. “ 

Qui-Gon had turned away, but he looked back at Yoda then, surprised.  “I didn’t see you?” 

Yoda smiled and rubbed his chin.  “No, a spy I was, but curious as to how you would fair.  Learned from you they did.   What learned you from them?” 

While he might push the boundaries of truth in his more dangerous missions, Qui-Gon could never lie to his Master. 

“I admit, I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.  But only because I knew it wasn’t permanent.  Put me to such work on a permanent basis and things would be very different.” 

“No,” Yoda agreed with a shake of his head, “make you a regular teacher I would not.  But one-on-one, with a padawan learner – with a particular padawan learner – teaching each other, working together, very different would it be.  Right was the boy – a partner you need, a companion, to give you greater reach, greater effectiveness.  And for other reasons.” 

“Such as?” 

Yoda sighed, eyes hooded in the shadowed room.  “The fire has gone from your spirit, my young padawan.  Smile not, for against my years a youngster you still are.  Many knights have I seen, many have I lost.  Know this I do, from my years and experience.  The spark in you fades, and one day, when call on it you will in your time of need, gone it will be.”

He would have liked to have denied knowing Yoda was talking about, but Qui-Gon was honest enough to admit the truth.  The fire of devotion and drive that had driven him as a younger man was indeed dying.  He’d considered it a natural thing, like the stray silver in his hair and the wrinkles around his eyes.   “I’m getting old, my Master.  Happens to most of us.” 

“Yes, “Yoda nodded, eyes widening a little, “but a padawan will make you young again.  Bright he is in the Force, bright and quick and alive.  Share his fire with you he will, and share your wisdom and experience with him you will.  Such is the way of the Jedi.”  Yoda reached across the small space between them and laid one large, gentle hand on Qui-Gon’s knee.  “Do not refuse this because of sloth or habit or arrogance or stubbornness.  Blind you, they do, to your heart’s truth.” 

Force of habit almost made him finally refuse, until the Force gave him visions.  In the way of such things a myriad of images flashed by in a hearbeat, in disregard of the laws of the universe.  Tying Obi-Wan’s hair into a braid as grey-green eyes watched him with quiet joy; fighting together back-to-back in a hundred battles; sharing meals in contentment;

laughter and sadness, anger and pleasure, mutual emotions, common dreams.  Alike and separate yet the same, joined in partnership like the twining strands of a padawan’s braid - - 

Qui-Gon blinked as the images faded away.  He sighed and wiped his eyes.  If I am a Jedi Knight, he thought, then that thing I believe in has just shown me the way.  He looked down at the waiting Yoda and smiled. 

“Where is he?”

****

 

For all that he’d lived at the Temple since his fifth year, Obi-Wan had relatively few possessions.  There were a few favorite music and data chips, some real books, images from various trips and of friends, some small ornaments and items he’d collected and been given.  They packed away neatly into one bag, especially when he considered that all the Temple clothing would stay; all his training outfits, leisure wear, sleeping wear and formal tunics and boots, they were Jedi and would have no place where he was going. 

All morning he’d shut himself away from his well-meaning friends and set about packing, wandering about the room in a sort of numb daze.   _I will not be a Jedi, I am leaving.  I will not be a Jedi._ The words circled around in his head no matter he tried to shut them out.  He wanted to weep, to howl, the throw things around the room, to sit on the floor and sob until all the pain went away.  He couldn’t, though, because all the training had made control second nature to him.  

 _No matter that I will not be a Jedi – still I can behave like one_.  If his heart was breaking and his life over, still he would walk out of the Temple with his head high and not shame himself.   

Obi-Wan had managed to jam most of his clothing into one sack to send to the laundry when the door signal beeped.  He called out without getting up from the floor. 

“Come.” 

The door slid open and Qui-Gon stepped inside.  Obi-Wan stood, absently tugging at the plain shirt he’d put on, his first civilian clothing in as long as he could remember. “Master Jinn.  I’m . .I’m packing.”  He couldn’t think what else to say, and it seemed stupid but it didn’t seem to bother the older Knight. 

“Good, you’re almost finished I see.  I will wait then.” 

Obi-Wan winced and felt his face flushing.  So anxious to get rid of him, that they would send Master Jinn to get him away?  It seemed awfully cruel.  He unconsciously tipped up his chin and looked up into the taller man’s face. “If you are busy, sir, it isn’t necessary to wait.  I know the way to the shuttle dock.” 

“Well, that’s good to know, but since you aren’t going to the shuttle dock, it’s not really relevant.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”  Obi-Wan watched the smiled turning up the ends of Qui-Gon’s mouth.  “Not going?” 

“Well, not unless you really want to.  I was hoping that you would accompany me to the shared quarters prepared for you in the Knights Wing.” 

Share quarters?  Knights Wing?  Obi-Wan’s heart leapt and thudded as surprise and hope flared up.  “Sir?” 

“The correct term,” Qui-Gon said softly, “is Master.  If you will accept me as your Master, of course.” 

Obi-Wan took a shuddering breath, feeling suddenly light-headed.  “But…you said you didn’t want a padawan?” 

“I was wrong.  You will find I am often right, but sometimes wrong, and it will be one of your duties to learn and appreciatethe difference.”  His smile had grown, lighting his eyes, and he held out one hand.  “I am not sure it was wise of you to want me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but if you still do, I would be honoured to teach you.” 

Obi-Wan held out both his hands, and Qui-Gon took them in his.  “The honor is mine, Master.” 

So they walked together to the Knight’s Wing, where Obi-Wan was given a set of rooms near Qui-Gon’s which looked out on  the inner towers, a view he would come to love as the years passed.  That same evening, in the presence of his own Master, Qui-Gon braided Obi-Wan’s hair, tying it with a small blue ribbon, then trimmed his hair short and tied the back section into a tail.  They were standing before the windows of the empty Council chamber and it was dark outside, but inside it was very bright and Obi-Wan watched the reflection in the window as Qui-Gon worked.  Together their images reflected in the glass, and there was no way of telling where one ended and the other began.


End file.
